Bridges Between Fools
by Glowbug24
Summary: Fransizka has molded herself into everything a von Karma should be. Then the phone rings. Meanwhile, Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth thinks he chose death; but now what? Set shortly after the end of Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney.
1. Chapter 1

Franziska von Karma has timed her morning routine down to the second. She will rise (six seconds), shower (ten minutes, eight seconds), consume a simple breakfast of eggs and toast (eight minutes, nineteen seconds), polish her whip (twenty minutes, thirty seconds), and devote exactly sixty minutes to studying her father's law books before leaving for the Berlin prosecutors' offices. She switches her mobile phone on at precisely 7:45 in the morning, while waiting for her chauffeur to heat the limousine to an acceptable temperature.

Today, at 7:46, the phone rings.

It is the kind of thing her father would do, and certainly the California number supports that hypothesis, but her father is on death row. She picks up. "Franziska von Karma."

For a moment, she thinks no one is there. Then a man's voice quavers, "You're Mr. Edgeworth's sister, aren't you?"

"That is a foolish question. I am Franziska von Karma, and I cannot see how my family relations are any of your concern."

"Oh," the voice says. "Sorry, it's just I wasn't sure who else to call. He was real adamant about _not Mr. Wright_ …"

"I beg your pardon?" _A von Karma does not show uncertainty._ "You are saying you have a personal acquaintance with Miles Edgeworth, Mr.—?"

"Gumshoe, Dick Gumshoe, Detective with the LAPD. Yeah, Mr. Edgeworth's my boss—or he was—I'm not sure—"

The chauffeur pulls around the corner. She signals him to wait. "Come to the point, Detective Dick Gumshoe."

"Uh, long story short, I was on my way home today and I had to talk him down off a bridge."

Franziska's whip falls from her hand. It clatters against the perfectly polished floor. The chauffeur's eyes go wide, and he steps toward the pane of glass separating them; Franziska stops him with a flick of her hand.

"Ms. von Karma?" Gumshoe asks.

"My. Little. Brother. Did _what."_

"Um. W-Well, the American phrase for it is 'attempted suicide'—"

"I am perfectly fluent in English, Detective Gumshoe!" Franziska snaps. _"Where is Miles Edgeworth now?"_

"On my couch," Gumshoe says in a small voice.

Franziska blinks. "Your… couch?"

"Um, yeah. Figured I should stay with him for a bit. He's okay," Gumshoe adds, before Franziska can think of an appropriate way to phrase the question. "He's not hurt, anyhow. I think he's asleep."

"I shall depart for America within the hour."

A squeak emerges from the speaker. "You—what?!"

"I hope your hearing is not impaired, Detective Gumshoe." Franziska reaches down to pick up her whip. "I presume you will ensure my brother's safety until I arrive?"

"Y-yes, ma'am!"

She takes down the man's address, tasks the chauffeur with calling her travel agent, and returns to her bedroom to pack a change of clothes.


	2. Chapter 2

_Author's note: I found this mostly finished in my drafts, and figured I might as well post it. I'm not sure if there will be a third chapter or not (don't hold your breaths), but if ever there is, it'll probably be a Gumshoe POV to wrap things up. Enjoy!_

 _Mentions of suicidal thoughts in this chapter._

* * *

Miles Edgeworth wakes to the sight of a water-stained ceiling, the springs of an ancient fold-out couch poking his back, and the sound of running water and a warbling baritone.

"Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh'll"— _swish, scrub—_ "fly away! Oh glory! Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh'll fly away! In the morning! Hoo-when I die, hallelujah by an' by—" _Clink!_ "Ahhhhhhhhhh'll fly away!"

Edgeworth groans, pulling a pillow over his head. The singing stops. Dishes rattle; footsteps approach.

"Morning, pal," Detective Gumshoe's voice says softly. "I mean, Mr. Edgeworth, sir. How you feeling?"

 _I cannot even end my own life properly. What is there to feel?_

The edge of the sofa-bed dips. "Made you some toast," Gumshoe says.

He doesn't want toast. He would prefer to sink into the mattress and cease to exist entirely… but, traitorously, his stomach growls. Edgeworth pushes the pillow away and finds himself looking up at a concerned detective sporting bedhead and a fuzzy green bathrobe. Gently, Gumshoe nudges him to a sitting position, propping the pillow behind his back.

"You should eat, sir. You'll feel better."

Edgeworth reaches for the nearest slice of toast, if only to forestall any attempt to spoon-feed him. It smells better than it has a right to. His career is based on falsehoods, his entire life broken by nightmares and mind games. His limbs feel as if filled with lead—and the taste of apricot jam bursts onto his tongue.

Apricot. He's known Detective Gumshoe for almost five years now, and he'd never dreamed the man favored apricot.

He is here, he remembers, because he heard a squeal of tires and a honking horn as he was climbing the rail of the bridge.

 _Because you were a coward,_ a voice whispers in his mind. _Because you lack the fortitude to see even the most pathetic of tasks through._

No. Because someone shouted, "Mr. Edgeworth! Wait!" and he looked back.

"Detective," Edgeworth rasps, "I am so, so sorry."

To his shock, the burly detective puts an arm around his shoulders. "None of that, pal. You don't have to say sorry for one darn thing, not today."

Edgeworth takes another bite of his toast. It is the least he can do.

He has managed most of the second slice when someone pounds heavily on the door. Then there is a snapping _crack_ that sounds rather like… leather on wood?

 _"Aufmachen!_ Let me in this instant!"

"Franziska?" Edgeworth whispers. They haven't spoken since December, a terse and awkward phone call two days after the trial.

He is suddenly aware of the creases in his clothes, the tear where he snagged his shirt on the bridge railing, the knots in his hair, the dark circles under his eyes. But if there is one person he wants to see…

Gumshoe unlocks the door, and has the sense to step aside as the youngest von Karma storms through. She's grown taller since Edgeworth last saw her, and cut her hair short, and gotten a much longer whip, which she points directly at him.

"You, Miles Edgeworth, are nothing less than a f-foolishly foolish fool!"

He braces himself—only for Franziska to toss the whip aside, slap him bare-handed, then _hug_ him and burst into tears.


End file.
